


All I Hear Is Thunder

by citizenjess (givehimonemore), patientalien



Series: Velkommen til New Asgard [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Gen, Inspired by Comic-Canon, M/M, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 15:39:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18897622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess, https://archiveofourown.org/users/patientalien/pseuds/patientalien
Summary: Five times Thor needed to be comforted as a baby; one time Thor comforted Loki as a baby; and one time Loki returned the favor.





	All I Hear Is Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> This story is low-key meant to be the second of an as-of-yet unknown number of loosely connected one-shot stories focused on an Endgame alternate ending wherein 2012 Loki finds his way to New Asgard. This particular story is tangentially connected, at best, to be sure, but it also functions as an homage to Issue 10 of the Thor (2018) comic run, including the title. It's a great issue overall - the b-plot is some breathtaking interaction between Loki and Laufey, even - but below is an excerpt that really inspired us to write this:
> 
> "I'll tell you a secret about the Mighty Thor. When he was a baby, he was terrified of storms. I first called him the God of Thunder out of mocking contempt. Because he wailed so loudly every time it sprinkled rain. Though I suppose over the years, he has grown into the name [...] I love my son. I love his fervor. His moxie. His Hel-be-damned spirit. I love the lightning in his heart. I love the Mighty Thor. I just wish to the gods that I knew how to tell him."
> 
> P.S.: While most sections of this story are an irrevocably interwoven collaboration between co-authors, the last two parts were Sarah's and my challenging one another piecemeal to write something absolutely gut-busting. We would love to know if we succeeded!

1\. Valkyrie

The birth of a royal child is always cause for celebration. Brunnhilde stands with the rest of the Valkyrior in the Grand Throne Room as Queen Frigga emerges from the antechamber, a bundle in her arms. The All-Mother looks tired, but radiant, as she joins Odin in front of the assembled crowd. Hela is there, as well, but she looks far less happy. In fact, she is so far removed from the rest of the royal family that she may as well not even be there. Well, Brunnhilde thinks, Hela has been an only child for millennia.

Odin taps his spear on the floor and it echoes through the chamber, silence settling over the room. Algrim, Odin’s royal advisor and one of the very last surviving Dark Elves, holds up his hands. “I present Thor, son of Odin, heir to the throne of Asgard! Long live Prince Thor!”

A cheer goes up as the baby is displayed, and Brunnhilde risks a glance at Hela, whose face is twisted into something dark and ugly. On one hand, Brunnhilde can't really blame her for being bitter; after all, as the law of the land dictates, only in the absence of a male heir is she eligible for the throne. Now that Thor has arrived, her own worth relative to the throne of Asgard has diminished considerably. Not, of course, Brunnhilde thinks, that Thor himself has any notion of such things at this point in time - as if on cue, the baby yawns, and several people, including Valkyries, coo as Frigga chucks her infant son under the chin, and then pets the downy fuzz atop his head. 

For his part, Odin looks dutifully proud, though not extraordinarily so, almost as though blessing the general welfare of his latest child is simply one thing on his lengthy to-do list. Still, when he cautiously wrests Thor from his mother's arms, and holds him up high, the boy squeals, and even Brunnhilde doesn't bother to hide her smile. "My son!" Odin shouts, and then the baby is hastily foisted off onto his mother anew when the commotion elicits from his tiny body a loud wail. Brunnhilde watches idly as Algrim offers Frigga an arm to assist her in standing; she also cannot help but notice that Hela is now nowhere to be found.

2\. Odin 

The boy will simply not stop screaming. At the first sign of any change in the weather, the child will begin to whimper, then whine, then wail at the top of his lungs as though calling down the very storm himself. Frigga takes it all far more patiently than Odin does; he does not recall Hela being quite this ornery as a babe.

Then again, Hela is a problem that must yet be dealt with, and not because of her inability to handle a thunderstorm. However, that particular dilemma is one for another day; today's is the fact that Thor will simply not. Shut. Up. 

"All right, hush," Odin tries to assuage the boy. It proves to be a useless endeavor, however, when a particularly loud thunderclap sounds overhead. Immediately, Thor's screams raise in pitch, almost as though challenging the skies to try such a thing again. 

"My little God of Thunder." The All-Father's voice is soft, yet mocking. He moves to nuzzle the boy with one hand, and watches through his good eye as both of Thor's tiny hands reach out to grasp his index finger. "At least you'll be strong," Odin acknowledges as Thor continues to hold tight to him. "Now," he adds, before pulling away, "no more tears. The God of Thunder does not weep because of some weather, boy." When the babe looks as though he wishes to protest, his hands curling into fists that wave anxiously before him now, and then yet manages to stifle himself, Odin feels his shoulders sag in slight relief. "Good night," he says, and closes the door to the baby's room before learning his son's reaction to yet another loud boom of thunder that rattles the windows outside of the antechamber.

3\. Frigga

The All-Mother is, as of yet, birth mother only to one. Attending to Thor is a task she technically has the authority to pawn off on any number of servants and assistants on Asgard, but in truth, Frigga has little interest in not raising her own child. When her royal duties accommodate it, and even when they don't, it is not uncommon to find mother and son strolling through Asgard's renowned gardens, Thor either cooing gently whilst pressed against his mother's chest in a tightly swaddled papoose, or watching the world around him from the comfort of his baby pram. In the evenings, passerby in the halls are often treated to the dulcet, wafting tones of Frigga's soft, warm cadence, as she sings sweetly the Vanir lullabies on which she herself was raised. It was not a tradition she had been able to share with Hela - alas, Odin's firstborn was not related to her by blood, though Frigga loved the girl just the same - but Thor seems to enjoy it, gazing as he does up at her with wide, clear eyes while Frigga breastfeeds him and recalls simple lyrical tales of magical creatures and beautiful worlds her son will one day come to know. 

The door is slightly ajar on this particular evening, and Frigga is politely surprised when none other than Hela passes by, and then seems to reconsider, turning on her heel, and then plodding into the antechamber. "He's not crying for once," she comments, expression and tone disdainful and utterly teenaged. Frigga, however, was raised by women and witches, and simply smiles at her adopted daughter.

"Babies cry, darling." They both glance down at Thor, who snuffles sleepily now from his crib. "Their entire world is controlled by ensuring their caretakers fulfill their basest needs until they're old enough to fulfill them themselves. Every time Thor cries, he's trying to communicate with us. We should listen."

Hela snorts. "Father has taken to wearing plugs in his ears to bed to block it out," she cracks, and it is the first time that Frigga's peaceful, smiling demeanor loosens.

"Yes, well"; the All-Mother is somewhat tight-lipped now. "I fear your father has forgotten what it is like to be so reliant on others, though you wouldn't know it from being around him." 

Hela always finds it fascinating to glean bits of implied insight into her father's matrimonial arrangement with Frigga. Her eyes sparkle mischievously. "He does like to play at being self-sufficient, though he has an awful lot of need for advisors. Some underlings still talk about how poorly they trust a Dark Elf in such a position."

Frigga gives one last caress to Thor's small face before beckoning Hela to follow her out of the baby's sleeping chamber. "No man, or even God, is an island. I would hope you do not encourage these strains of conversation," she adds. "Algrim has been a dear friend to this family for centuries. He whittled away many an hour not spent advising at your father's side caring for you, in fact."

"Yes, of course," Hela agrees hastily, her cheeks ever so slightly reddened. It was as close to chastisement as Frigga got. "Father's political manipulations serve us all well. Imagine telling Grandfather Bor that Asgard would one day strike up such a friendship with one from Svartalfheim; and with so many Vanir, besides."

"Yes, dear." If Frigga senses the bait inherent in the remark, she wisely chooses not to rise to it. "Come," she beckons Hela; she reaches out to brush a long, dark wave of hair off of her adopted daughter's shoulder, letting it fall down her back. "Take an evening stroll in the herb gardens with me. I could use a second pair of eyes regarding this season's output."

"Aye, All-Mother." Instinctively, Hela moves her head and hand to replace the hair to its initial position, and then trails behind Frigga into the diminishing light of dusk.

4\. Hela

Hela knows her days in the palace are numbered. She has heard the rumors of plans being put into place, has found herself no longer welcome at the Valkyrie training camp, has been shut out of battlefield preparations for the upcoming siege against the Frost Giants on Midgard. Why? Why would Odin do that? She could travel across the frozen plains and end the Jotun invasion in a matter of moments, and they both know it, but no. No, Odin wants to try diplomacy. Foolish idiot.

There’s a reason for all of this, she knows, and it is currently swaddled in a dark red blanket, laying in a crib in the center of the room she has just let herself into. She is surprised to find that he has been left by himself for any length of time, considering how important he is to the future of Asgard. “Oh, you have no idea the ruin you're bringing,” she tells him, gliding towards the crib to peer over the side at her baby brother. "No idea of the danger you bring in turning the All-Father so weak, so soft."

Thor blinks up at her, his eyes big and very blue. He has his fist in his mouth and is slobbering all over it. In spite of her surly demeanor and gravelly tone, so unlike Frigga's kind, angelic almost sing-song, he appears non-threatened, and in fact, even seems to be listening to her, as much as a baby possibly could. Hela scowls. “Suddenly Father is interested in peace, in letting the other Realms run over us. It will destroy us, and it's all because of you.” She doesn’t understand, not really, and the baby gives her no answers, of course.

Idly, Hela reaches into one of her pocket dimensions for her favorite blade. It would be so, so easy. Slay the child here, blame the Frost Giants. Rain down retribution, and prove to Odin that she is still worthy of her place by his side, of being his Executioner. Thor smiles at her, huge and gummy, and she yet lowers the knife to her side. “Disgusting,” she snarls, and leans in close. “You will never be worthy,” she informs him, voice low and poisonous. "You'll see. This is just a temporary derivation, a passing fancy. Odin knows who he really is. He'll shape you into the weapon he truly wants you to be, and then abandon you, just when you thought you had earned his love, a place forever at his side. He's doing it to me, and he'll do it to you, his pretty, perfect product of a dalliance he's worked so hard to legitimize. He's not your father, not really." 

She finishes speaking, her heart feeling both heavier and lighter at once. True to form, Thor's demeanor has not changed. Annoyed, Hela waves a hand towards the nearby storm window, and is illuminated a moment later by prescient lightning, followed swiftly by the boom of thunder. Finally, Thor begins to scream. "Go ahead and cry," she tells him. "He won't listen." She feels like a witch setting a curse. It makes her feel a little better as she leaves the room, in search of more worthy blood to spill. 

5\. Heimdall

The Watchman turns his Gaze towards the fortress in which Queen Frigga, along with the Crown Prince and any others in Asgard in need of special protection, are all hiding. Hela’s forces were focused primarily on battling down the Valkyries, but Heimdall knows that she could have easily turned her attention to those unable to defend themselves. Odin himself has been gathering his strength for the task ahead of him - banishment to another Realm is one thing, designing wards to prevent her from accessing her powers, or returning in any way, is another matter entirely, and requires the full concentration of the All-Father. Thus, Heimdall has taken it upon himself to somewhat extend his typical duties to ensure that no corner of Odin's kingdom is left unseen.

The fighting is fierce, and Heimdall Watches as wave after wave of Asgard’s elite warriors fall under Hela’s onslaught. Soon, there are none left, save one, and Odin has succeeded in casting his spell, sending Hela to limbo, not even granting her dominion down in the cold wastes of Niflheim to rule over the unworthy dead. It would be a fitting role for her, though Heimdall would certainly never say so out loud. He keeps his own council, his discretion all part of his role. Still, he should have seen this all coming. He observes for a moment as Hela screams and rages in her newfound impotence, unable to do any harm anymore. Then, when he has looked his fill, he activates the Bifrost to return the last remaining Valkyrie home to Asgard.

The Valkyrie - Brunnhilde, Heimdall recognizes - arrives on her knees, cradling the head of her dead pegasus in her arms. It’s gruesome, and heartbreaking. He kneels beside her, Hofund still in his hand - the threat may have passed, but the sword will forever be his responsibility - and urges her to raise her head. “You fought valiantly, as did your shield sisters,” he offers. “They have earned their places in Valhalla.”

Her face twists and she pushes away, rising to her feet. “Send me there,” she demands. 

“You know I can not.” Only those felled in battle, after all, are admitted entrance to Valhalla, as well Brunnhilde knows. Heimdall certainly understands her request, however; she is not the first, nor will she be the last warrior to experience survivor’s guilt. Still, in this instance, he does feel pity. She is the last, and he doubts Odin will care to reinstate the Valkyries when the Einherjar serve the same purpose, and when there is no longer the need for a separate army for the now-defunct position of Royal Executioner. 

“Send me somewhere, then,” she insists, wiping her eyes furiously with the hem of her bloodied cape. 

It is Heimdall’s duty to report the Valkyrie’s return to Odin. It is his duty to ensure the safety of the Realm, and part of that is ensuring her citizens and warriors are where they are supposed to be. Brunnhilde should be preparing for Odin’s newest conquest - though the All-Father has not said it, Heimdall is privy to the whispers of rebellion in Jotunheim, rebellion that surely will be snuffed out soon enough, given that the rest of Asgard's armies are currently accompanying him there - and Heimdall should be reporting her for abandoning her post, insignificant though it now is.

He looks at her now, miserable and alone, covered in mud and the gore of her sisters. “Where would you like to go?” he finally asks, raising his eyes to hers and readying his sword.

“Anywhere but here,” she replies, and walks towards the portal. "Surprise me," she calls behind herself without turning around. "Send me somewhere Asgard won't come calling me back."

Heimdall does.

+1. Thor

It's colder in Loki's room, the tiny chamber behind their father's throne, than anywhere else Thor has been in the palace so far. He doesn't dislike it, but idly wonders if Algrim and Mother somehow both managed not to close a window or some such.

Loki's skin, however, does not appear to be frozen, or blue, and the babe's soft breath is warm against Thor's palm when he laboriously climbs the slats of Loki's crib in order to reach down and touch his face. Unsurprisingly, it is enough to make Loki stir. "Oh, don't cry!" Thor's young voice quavers in genuine regret. "Father says growing godlings don't cry." Suddenly inspired, the young boy affects a dramatically scowling expression, and crosses his arms. Then, he uncrosses them in order to pantomime a large, bushy beard along the bottom half of his face. "'Tears are not the emotion of a true warrior, my son,'" he says gruffly, approximately two and a half octaves lower than he normally spoke. He giggles as he finishes speaking, and from his own respective seat for such a spectacle, Loki waves a tiny, triumphant fist in the air.

"Glad you liked it, brother," Thor replies. With considerable effort, he begins the complicated process of climbing into the crib himself, eventually managing to both find a comfortable position while allowing Loki's head to be pillowed on his lap. "You were so good at your naming ceremony today!" Loki likewise seems to appreciate Thor's optimistic tone, and smiles toothlessly. "You and Mother looked great up there! And Father, too, I guess. He mostly looked strong. Guess that's why they call him the Mighty Odin."

Loki squirms a little, and then fusses. "Ssshh, it's okay." Thor whispers, now. "Hey, look what you've got here." He holds up a small, plush, somewhat worn-looking toy in the shape of a native Vanir agricultural beast of burden, and then sets it just enough on Loki's chest so the baby can clutch at it; Loki does, too. "That used to be mine," Thor tells him, still whispering. "But I guess you need it now more than I do. Here, it probably smells like me." Loki just stares sleepily at him, apparently keen to take Thor's word for it at this point in time.

Thor leans down, and brushes his lips across Loki's forehead; then, because he can't seem to resist, he also kisses both of his baby brother's cheeks. "Father will be cross if Algrim tells him I was found in here again," he says lowly, regretfully. "We'll play more tomorrow. Good night, Loki." He risks one more chaste kiss before maneuvering himself up and out of the crib. He makes his way swiftly down the hall, eventually reaching his own chambers, and slipping inside with a barely perceptible 'click.' In this manner, he avoids the wrath of his father, as well as the significantly more softened reaction of, unbeknownst to him, his mother, who watches after him fondly, as if she means to see him both softly and safely to his own bed. 

When Frigga checks on him herself later, Thor is fast asleep, dreaming of tomorrow.

+2. Loki

Sometimes, Thor forgets. After a particularly bad night, or an ale or five too many, he’ll start to recount memories that Loki - this Loki - has no way of sharing. He will boast loudly about beating the great green beast on Sakaar, and then look to Loki expectantly, as if wishing him to corroborate his version of events. Loki, of course, cannot. The last memory he has of Thor, before getting yanked through time and space to this strange reality, was of the blustering oaf all excited about the idea of a post-battle meal. 

“Yes, of course,” he plays along. “How could I possibly forget?” He can imagine how the fight must have gone, having been pummeled himself by the monster inside the man, and knowing that Thor likely got his now-ample ass handed to him gives Loki just the slightest buzz of pleasure. Not that he would admit that, of course, and not that he feels good about that anymore. How could he, knowing what tragedy had befallen a Thor who did not have a Loki by his side. 

“You’re so full of shit,” the Valkyrie snorts into her own bottle, her smile one of fond familiarity. “Both of you.” She, of course, knows the truth of his identity, but she also seems to know when to play along with Thor’s selective memory issues. 

Thor grins back at her, looking happier than he has since Loki’s inelegant return. Loki can’t say it has been an easy time; being yanked from his own reality - a reality where things were… not going so well for him - had been an adjustment, and he still is not confident in his ability to provide any kind of stable support for his obviously damaged brother. Still, this expression of happiness makes him feel a little better, even if it’s because Thor has forgotten. Again. 

The merriment continues late into the night, and by the time the Valkyrie leaves for her own home, Thor’s mood has turned as the distraction of her presence fades. “Bed?” Loki prods. He’s exhausted, needing much more sleep than normal, lately, but he’s not about to leave Thor to his own devices. 

“I'm sorry I didn’t save you,” Thor rumbles in time with the rolling thunder outside. “Some brother I am.” He tosses his last empty bottle onto the floor, and Loki sighs at the backwards step they seem to have taken. “Some hero.”

“Oh, shut up,” Loki replies, but without the bite that might have come with the admonishment years ago. Tugging Thor to his feet and shoving him towards the bedroom he adds, “So you didn’t save me. So what? I'm here now, aren’t I?” Loki has not yet been told the story of his other self’s death in full, but he has gleaned enough from what isn’t said. Thor’s habitual insistence on his own failure tells its own story as well, of a fate traumatic enough to break the God of Thunder. Apparently, Thanos had done exactly as promised and delivered to Loki, through Thor, a fate that made him long for mere pain. 

“For how long?” Thor seems like he’s trying to sound bitter, but it only comes across as sad. Loki pushes him onto the bed, gesturing for him to lie down. Thor hesitates, but then acquiesces, making room for Loki out of a well-practiced habit. Out of a similarly-worn habit, Loki crawls in beside him. 

“You stupid oaf,” Loki says into Thor’s hair, his lean body around Thor’s softer one. “You’re never getting rid of me now.” 

In the distance, the thunder fades away as the brewing storm dissipates as soon as it had appeared. Peace settles over New Asgard, as the cosmic scales, for the moment, swing to balance.


End file.
